


Untainted

by Signe (oxoniensis)



Category: Fringe
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxoniensis/pseuds/Signe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We want to stop the war," he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untainted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XI, prompts alcohol and comfort. Beta thanks to alizarin_nyc. Originally posted [here](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/473180.html).

When he crosses over, she's the only one who recognizes him.

He walks into the FBI offices and asks to speak to Agent Dunham. She's walking out of Broyle's office when she sees him, walking towards her, and for a second the world spins and she clutches the door frame. She has to look around and reassure herself that she's in the right universe.

She is, he isn't.

She takes him out into the corridor before she asks any questions. She doesn't want him to get arrested out of hand, before he's even had a chance to explain. She feels like she owes him that, somehow. For saving her life in the tunnel under the bank, for being a teammate she could implicitly rely on. There's a bond that comes from nearly dying together.

"We want to stop the war," Lincoln says. "Find some way to save both our worlds."

It turns out that when he says _we_ , he's only speaking for a small group. Charlie's part of it, Olivia's glad to hear. Working with Charlie was one of the few things that made the other world bearable. It's good to think she can still work with him, even if she never sees him again.

"Olivia wouldn't agree with this, you know," he tells her. "Our Olivia," he clarifies, and Olivia doesn't tell him Walter calls her Fauxlivia. It isn't funny to her, and it wouldn't be to him, she's sure of that. There's nothing fake about either world. Nothing that makes either one less real or worthy of existence.

"We're very different," she says. "Your Olivia, me." She thinks about her childhood, about the trials, Cortexiphan, growing up without a mother. The sort of person the other Olivia became. And for the first time ever she doesn't feel angry about the trials. She isn't grateful, she'll probably never entirely forgive Walter or William Bell, but she's glad she's the woman she is. Even if she doesn't smile as much as the other Olivia.

Lincoln nods, though he can't know the half of it. "She's been my partner for two years now. I respect her. And she's a good friend." He doesn't need to add that he feels like he's betraying her, helping to broker this accord between the universes without her knowledge. Not trusting her to keep it a secret from their Walter. It's obvious he's torn. Olivia wouldn't trust him, wouldn't respect him, if he weren't.

They're doing the right thing, though. This side, a small select group they trust. Small enough to test daily for shapeshifter infiltration. And on the other side, Charlie and Lincoln and half a dozen other key officials. All horrified when the truth about Broyles finally came out. All determined to follow through on the step he took to avoid war. All focused on saving both worlds.

Such a tiny band, spread out over two universes. There are times it seems impossible.

Today, though, they've made progress. Walter has spent the day scrawling formulae on anything that stays still enough to be written on – even Gene has black sharpie scribbles down her flank from when Walter had an epiphany in the middle of milking her – and downing strawberry milkshakes that Olivia suspects are laced with drugs. Peter's been watching him, nodding in understanding, offering up suggestions when Walter slows down and reassuring him whenever he flies into a fit of doubt. Astrid has been handling every demand Walter has made – no matter how ridiculous – with her usual calm, and Broyles has promised no distractions or new cases while Walter's working through whatever it is he's working on. Something to do with healing the fabric of the universe, which Olivia would have thought far-fetched a couple of years ago but now takes in her stride.

There's nothing she can do in the lab, and she doesn't want to be around Peter, so when Lincoln suggests a drink, she says yes, and ignores the hurt look Peter gives her as she leaves.

Lincoln looks surprised when she orders whisky, and even more when she closes her eyes after the first sip. It's good. Good enough to savor slowly, and good enough to limit to just one drink.

Lincoln has whisky too, pressed up against her, arm to arm. "We don't have this brand," he says, taking a cautious sip. "Or most of those, either," he adds, nodding towards the row of bottles behind the bar. There's enough background noise that they can talk safely, but they're still careful. Worlds depend on them. Billions of lives.

Olivia stares into her glass, registering that it's empty, then turns towards Lincoln. "You and the other Olivia?" she starts, not sure quite how she wants to frame the question.

"No," Lincoln says, shaking his head emphatically. "I mean, I kissed her once." He laughs ruefully. "At a party. Didn't know she had a boyfriend. She slapped me, then she introduced me to Frank."

"Good," Olivia says. That doesn't count. Which means this is something she gets to have first. Someone the other Olivia hasn't touched and tainted. She leans in and kisses him, tasting the whisky on his lips.

He doesn't kiss her back. Just waits for her to stop. "I thought. You and Peter. Aren't you—" He raises his eyebrows. They've grown back very soft, Olivia notices. His sideburns are baby-soft too, blonder than they used to be.

"No," Olivia replies, maybe stronger than she means to. She doesn't want to have to explain everything that should have been between her and Peter, everything that they had and lost and how she can barely stand to be in the same room as him now, even though she still loves him. She just wants this, the two of them here, something simple. And then she laughs, because how she can consider anything simple when it involves two people from different universes just goes to show how crazy her life's gotten.

"Care to share the joke?"

"No, not really," Olivia says, shaking her head. She reaches out and touches the back of his hand. She remembers seeing him burnt, seeing him later at the gas station, covered in scars, looking more like an alien than a human. And now his skin is perfect, and all she wants to do is feel it against her own, lose herself in him for just a while.

She should order another drink after all. She lifts her hand to gesture to the bartender, but Lincoln takes her hand while it's in motion and holds it still. They sit there for a moment, holding hands awkwardly in mid air, and then he kisses her.

They go back to her place, because his is a motel room that he changes every couple of days. He strips her in the living room, and she has a moment where she's sure the other Olivia would wear something sexier than a white sports bra and matching panties, but Lincoln isn't looking at her like he's thinking that, or is at all disappointed. He's looking at her like he can't quite believe it, like he's been waiting for this and hoping for it, and now he's waiting for something to go wrong, so Olivia smiles and starts peeling his clothes off. They move towards the bedroom, her clothes in a pile and his in a trail leading to her bed.

The sheets are clean, but even that doesn't matter because Lincoln's never been here before, this is something new for both of them, something the other Olivia can't take away from her.

There were condoms in her drawer when she got back, a half-empty box, but she threw them out. She hasn't replaced them, but she doesn't feel like being sensible or careful. Lincoln asks her though, and when she says no, he says it's a good thing he went to the men's room before they left the bar. He crosses to the doorway where his pants are on the floor. He's protecting her from herself, she can see that in his eyes, the careful way he rolls the condom on. It's almost enough to make her cry, but she won't do that now. Not until later, when he's gone. Instead, she puts the bedside lamp on. The main light is already on, but she wants both, because that way the faint glow around him is barely noticeable. If she closes her eyes, she wouldn't see it at all, but she doesn't want to close her eyes. She wants to watch him as he sinks into her, watch the expressions as they cross his face. He looks blissful, and she wishes she could just enjoy this moment, shut out everything else, everyone else, and feel that same bliss.

"Olivia?" Lincoln says, and he's stroking her face, so tender it hurts. "We don't have to—"

She swallows. "I know," she says. "But I want to." And it's the truth as much as it's a lie.

There's a moment, just for a while, when he's pulling her so tight up against him that he can barely move inside her, when his mouth is pressing against her jaw and he's whispering something into her skin, something so soft she can't hear it, when she thinks she feels that bliss. "Lincoln," she gasps, and she closes her eyes, and thinks this could be her future, this strong, brave man who has enough faith in her to cross a universe and put his life in her hands. He might come to love her and she might come to love him, and she exhales his name again.

And then she opens her eyes and the glow is there, around his face, and Peter's out there, and there's a war to stop, and no time for falling in love. She bites her lip because she doesn't want to scream at the unfairness of life, and Lincoln holds her as he comes.

She settles down next to him afterwards, because even if she can't have everything, she can have this. She can wake up next to him in the morning, when it's still dark, and kiss him closed-mouthed because of morning breath, and lean her head on his chest and feel him breathing and fall back to sleep a little longer, his arm a warm weight across her back.

"Would you rather I were her?" Olivia asks, just before she falls asleep, because sometimes she's an idiot and doesn't know when to keep silent.

There's no answer for a moment and she thinks maybe he's already asleep. Then he leans on one elbow, smoothes the hair back from her face and looks her in the eye. "No," he says quietly, and she believes him.


End file.
